THE BRIDGEPORT ZOO - erin fitzgerald

THE BRIDGEPORT ZOO

erin fitzgerald

Two of us sit in the carousel house, our backs to the wood-filled horses. We could have broken into the ticket office, we would warm up more quickly, but we don't want to attract attention since Mike will attract attention enough. We're dizzy and cranky for meat, even Celia who is a vegetarian. She says that was another life, which would be funny, except then she said now we're the ones being oppressed. We're not.

If Mike brings back a guinea hen or a squirrel I will kick his ass, I say, wrapping my blanket tighter around me, as much as someone who hasn't had protein in three days can kick an ass. Don't worry, Celia says. I'll help you.

We listen to the leaves scratching at the pavement, to the lack of happy chatter. We breathe the careworn air, which will only be alive for a mouth-filling crack.

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